The Children Of Immigrants

What am I…?
What do you mean “identity?”
Can someone please give me some clarity?
Do you know who you are?
Come on, show me those scars.
No! Not those ones.
The ones that are inside.
The ones that cut deep.
Please, take me for that ride.
Tell me, why can’t you sleep?
When did that inner child die?
And why must you weep?
They said:
We reside in a world much different than yours.
A world you cannot see and never explore.
Our world divides into two.
One for our family and one for you.
For this, we know it is no one’s fault.
Yet this does not hinder the mental assault.
To know that we made it out and they did not.
Left under the shadow of war and the despots.
But then we are reminded to be grateful.
“Why are you crying when your plate’s full?”
And that statement stands to be correct.
For me, I can’t help but to reflect.
For the others, they remain in a state of cognitive dissonance.
And for you, remember the tale of the children of immigrants.